


Spreadsheets and Stage Lights

by DeadZedNed



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Business setting, Fluff, Medicine Neglect, Multi, Post-pacifist timeline, Rating May Change, Reader Is Not Frisk, Shenanigans, Slow Burn, Smut (maybe), reader uses gender neutral pronouns, self doubt, self hate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 13:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadZedNed/pseuds/DeadZedNed
Summary: For years, you've worked at a Hillside Savings bank as an advisor. You've answered calls from customers trying to help them out as best you can. And even when the monsters came out of the mountain the town over, you advised them the best you can with their new lives aboveground. And you've been doing an okay job so far, you think.But then your boss puts you on an outside contract, helping a certain monster superstar reach fame with humans, as well as be wise enough with his money to stay afloat.On paper, your resume says you've got the skills to make it work. But there's more than numbers and charts to deal with in showbusiness, especially with an eccentric individual like Mettaton. And not everyone is friendly towards the new monster population.





	1. Today seems different somehow

"Ya'ne."

The world is swallowed in black fog and your eyes are useless. You let your arms reach out ahead of you, hoping to grab something, anything. Feet shuffle anxiously forwards, unsure where a wall or drop will be in front of them. You feel so useless.

"Ya'ne."

Bony hands covered in cold, necrotic skin grasp at your ankles as the floor dissolves to dust. They climb their way up your thighs, grabbing at your naked body. You're being dragged down. There is nothing you can do.

"Ya'ne. Look at me, Ya'ne. Come to me."

Something pierces the darkness. It's a figure shining eerily like an eclipsed sun: light seems to come from behind it rather than from the figure itself. A hand outstretches. You can already feel the life radiating from it.

"It's not far. I know it's hard, Ya'ne, but it's possible. I believe in your abilities."

It's too hard. Too far. The dead hands are already past your waist, and the sea of fingers and palms is quickly approaching eye level. It's already over. Your own limbs can't move for shit. You are shit. Everything is shit. You melt into the evening.

This is where you should be.

* * *

 

"Ya'ne. This is your morning alarm."

Theres so much crust in your eyes that needs rubbing out before you can properly open them. The plastic computer box on your nightstand was what houses your Personal Assistance Artificial Intelligence. You'd lazily named it PAAI, turning its description into an acronym.

"PAAI, turn off alarm. What's the time?" You turn over in your bed, hesitantly letting bare feet touch the ground. The carpet floor is still chilly from last night.

"Current time is 7:04. Your shift starts at 7:45, with an estimated 20 minute transit time via subway."

You thank him before throwing the sheets off your body. Chill sweeps over you, spreading  unpleasant goosebumps over your skin, but it's time to get out of bed.

Pajamas are replaced with your collared shirt and dress pants. The tie is the company's signature blue-green, and your hands twist it into a Windsor knot around your collar almost instinctually, just like they've been doing it for the past seven years. An electronic kettle boils water for some tea and oatmeal.

"PAAI, weather and news please."

"Current temperature is 65 degrees Fahrenheit, with mild winds from the south. Partly cloudy. Wildfires continue in the west, but have slowed down growth by 10%. The election for West Ebott's city mayor continues to escalate between the two candidates, and political analysts believe that tonight's debate will discuss what should be done regarding the newfound monster population..." PAAI's robotic voice rattles off as you move around your apartment, packing up your folders and computer into your backpack and eating your breakfast in between.

"There is a notification I should let you know of before you go," PAAI says, just as you move to open the door. "An email in your work inbox."

"Dictate it to me."

"To Financial Advisor Y. Reader:

Please expect to be called into my office around 3:00 for a private meeting regarding a sensitive topic. While I'd rather not disclose any of said information over an email, be advised that this is not a surprise performance review.

Regards,

A. Ignam."

Odd. You're not sure what else it could possibly be, then.

But there's not much time to ponder. You finish off your instant oatmeal and grab your mug of tea as you head out the door. You've got a train to catch.

* * *

The place you work at is a bank renowned for its financial assistance services. In your opinion, plenty of your company's competitors are underhanded assholes, calculating just how polite enough they need to be to keep their customer base and fucking them over for the rest of the way. Hillside Savings actually goes out of their way to inform people on smart financial decisions, far enough to have an open call line for customers needing financial planning advice. Your job was being on the other end of the line.

"Hillside Savings advisement line, Ya'ne speaking. How may I help you today?"

An old lady is your first caller. She's having trouble with her online account profile, and you slowly lead her through the steps needed.

"One of my accounts is missing. I should have a third one there, and I only see two. The third one isn't there, not there at all."

"Alright. I have your account information on my screen now, and I see three accounts. Two savings and one checking."

"Thats right, but I only see the two savings ones. I don't know where the other ones went."

"One moment, please."

You log in to a mock account on your computer and try to replicate what could have caused the problem. It takes about half a minute for you to find it.

"There should be three tabs near the top of the screen, just next to our logo. Do you see them?"

"Yes."

"Is one of them a darker green than the other two?"

"Uh-huh."

"Please tell me what the text in the tab says."

There's shifting noises on the other end of the line. She's probably leaning in closer to the screen.

"It says 'Saving Accounts'. "

"Do one of the tabs next to it say 'All Accounts'?"

"Yeah. It's a light green though, not a dark green."

"Please click on it for me."

Theres a gasp of surprise. "There it is! I can see all three of them now! Thank you so much, dear."

"Of course." You grin a little. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"Nope, that was all I needed. Thanks so much!"

You end the call. Easy peasy. The next one comes not five minutes later though.

"Hillside Savings advisement line, Ya'ne speaking. How may I help you today?"

"Hi there... I need some help managing a food budget." The guy sounds nervous right off the bat.

"Alright. How many people do you need to feed?"

"Four, including myself. I've got three kids, and one of them is a toddler."

Single parent. That can't be a fun time. You do have a document made up for helping people with food problems. Recipes, techniques, shopping methods, couponing, everything you could think of. This is one of the more common problems you get called about.

It takes over half an hour, but you get him sorted out. For now, at least.

"And a crock pot can just sit there and cook it for you?"

"Yes. It can be overnight, it can be while you're away at work and while the kids are away at school, just put the ingredients in and set the timer. Getting a rice cooker will help too, it works kind of the same way."

He gives a sigh of relief. "Okay. Thank you so much for this. I kind of, panicked once I realized I had to take on more hours at work, you know? I usually take an hour after coming back from work to cook."

"I'm glad I was able to find you a workaround for your situation, sir. Would you like me to email you similar advice to the the adress we have on file for you?"

"That would be fantastic. Thank you."

You talk a bit more before closing the call. You make sure to point him to some forums that'd be of help, as well as give him a way to contact you at work. People rarely get back to you when you do this, but the jesture is appreciated, or so you were told during training. 

The rest of the day goes by similarly. Several people need help making sense of tax codes. Some college student asks you if she should take a job or focus on her studies. You answer the questions the best you can, and redirect them to resources to help them further.

By the time your lunch break hits, you head straight to your favorite burger spot: Patty Palace. It's not fancy, but it tastes good, isn't that expensive, and isn't one of those big chains that probably pumps additives into everything.

"Hey Ya'ne," says the cashier. "Same thing as usual?"

You nod, and she punches your order into the register. You take quick look around while she does so, and notice that a monster is one of the small handful of patrons sitting at the tables. They've got scaly skin that reminds you of a fish, and long blueish hair that's just past shoulder length. You're pretty sure that there's a biolumenecent thing hanging out of the top of her head, like some of the deep sea fish you've seen on the Discovery Channel.

The cashier calls out your order, and you become aware that you've been staring at the monster the entire time your food has been getting prepared. You take your bagged meal with you and awkwardly leave the restaurant, hoping you weren't too obvious with looking the monster up and down.

Maybe in another life when you were you went to medical school, you'd be able to live out a xenobiologist's wet dream and inspect them further and up close, but alas, your job is behind a desk. It's not like you're a stranger to them though; you've gotten calls from plenty of monsters about trying to figure out the human financial system. One has even discussed about how to go about opening a bakery topside with you.

You eat back at your office. The meeting later on that afternoon stays in your mind as you finish off your fries, and you can't help but be nervous even though you don't have a clear reason to be.

As your lunch break ends and you start taking in calls again, time seems to slip by like water. Before you know it, it's 2:56 and you've just wrapped up one last call. There's an odd feeling of anticipation in your chest. Your gut tells you that even though you don't know the content of the meeting, it might just be impactful enough to be career defining. It's definitely feels that way as you walk to the meeting room.

You open the door and see your boss, Austin, at one end of the table. He's wearing the company colored tie, just like you, but also has the blazer he was given when promoted to manager. And sitting across from him-

Pink and metal. Lots of pink. The humanoid robot leans back in his chair and faces you, eyes dancing up and down your figure. He grins almost devilishly, nodding like he's pleased with something. 

"Ya'ne." You turn back to face Austin, trying to straighten your posture. "Please close the door and take a seat. Like my email said, this is quite a sensitive topic."

Only when you sit down at the table do you realize your face has heated up a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic in a very long time, and half a writing exercise/experiment to make sure I can still write decency.
> 
> One little comment I'd like to make about how this fic deals with the second person (reader/you) perspective:
> 
> I'm not a fan of putting (y/n)(l/n) as the protagonist's name. Instead, I've decided to use "Ya'ne Reader" as the placeholder first and last name, instead of using "(y/n) (l/n)". 
> 
> I did this because I feel like using something that sort of sounds like an actual name keeps the flow of the work from breaking in my opinion. I picked Ya'ne for the reader's first name because it kind of sounds like "Your name" spoken aloud, and Reader for the last name because it sounded like a semi realistic last name. It probably is one.
> 
> I've got nothing against the people that do use "(y/n) (l/n)" in their works. I'm just trying to do something different and see how it works.
> 
> That being said, please let me know how you enjoy this piece. It's my first work on this site, but please let me know what I can do to improve.
> 
> Cheers. See you in the next chapter, I hope.


	2. The Meeting

"Ya'ne, this is Mettaton," introduces Austin.

You stand up and lean across the buffed wooden table to shake the robot's extended hand. It's quite the surprise when you feel how warm and lifelike it is under the glove. There's definitely metal plates there if you press hard enough, but they're flexible, somehow. If you were blindfolded, you'd have thought it was a human with a firm grip shaking your hand. 

He begins to let go of your hand and you react quickly, loosening your grip. You rest your hands in your lap, threading the fingers together and twiddling your thumbs. Hopefully he didn't notice your lingering touch.

"Mettaton," begins Austin, "this is Advisor Ya'ne Reader. Ya'ne is the most capable individual available at the moment to help you out with your entertainment brand. Their qualifications, as we discussed, seem to be a perfect fit for the skill set you need."

Hold on. Is this a promotion?

Austin notices your look. "There's a contract proposal on the table right now to work with Mettaton, helping helping him launch a television show. Back under Mount Ebott, he was a television entertainer. A very capable one, as far as I've heard from other monsters."

"Qute right, darling." Mettaton's voice is startingly smooth. You were expecting something like cheap text to speech software, but it's more like a pro voice actor talking through one of those tinny toy microphones. He flashes a smile, and again you're surprised at how lifelike his figure and actions are. You begin to wonder if he's moreover a cyborg than full machine.

Mettaton continues speaking. "I did all sorts of things: cooking shows, game shows, interviews, plays, the whole shabang." He counted them off on his fingers as he listed them. "I'm sure the humans will love it, I've been at it for years, after all."

That's quite the skillset. You tell him so, and he grins at the compliment. "I was the sole entertainment provider in the underground, you know. On television, it was either me or reruns of whatever media fell our way from the surface."

"Mettaton came to this Hillside Savings branch looking for some help in this endeavor," said Austin. "While the gold coins he's profited during his career under Ebott translate into a very healthy amount of dollars, it's still quite the task to make sure you're spending it the right way. As I'm sure you know."

"Of course," you agree. You're heard of situations where people with millions of dollars in net worth mismanage horribly and file for bankruptcy. Rare, but entirely possible. "So... You'd like me to work with Mr. Mettaton on getting his business up and running."

"Correct," the robot - cyborg monster? - confirmed. "And no need for a 'Mr.', just Mettaton will be fine."

"I've got all the paperwork that we've filled out right here." Your boss holds up a thick manilla folder for you to see before sliding it over the polished hardwood table towards you. You pick it up and flip through the various forms.

The small business forms are all there. Tax codes seem to be in order, but it's been a while since you've worked with business startups like this. You'll probably have to look over some of your notes on the subject. The available budget you have to work with is massive, and you make a mental note to ask how much one of those gold coins weigh.

"You'd be in charge of budgeting, financing, and approving purchases on behalf of our perspective client," Austin explained. "Mostly, this is just making sure that Mettaton is purchasing what he needs without getting swindled, as well as having someone to advise him in unfamiliar human territory.

"However," he continues, leaning back pensively in his chair, "I'm aware that some other aspects may not be the most straightforward situation to deal with. The entertainment industry is quite the different animal compared to what you're used to, among... other complications."

You nod. Just like the rest of the world, you read up on the story about how the monsters were kept under Ebott for centuries. The barrier broke not even a month ago, and while many monsters stayed around the mountain and in the sleepy town that was its namesake, West Ebott attracted some, as it was the closest city of decent size.

Some of your friends that lived further out talked to you about it, about how cool it must be, rubbing shoulders with a long-lost people of legend, but all you can say that your commute got a little more colorful, and that a few of the calls that you've taken had asked questions stranger than what you were used to. One monster asked you how many bottles of ketchup could be bought with 40 dollars, and you had to mute the call, wheezing the laughter out of your system before your composure returned, and directed him to a website that catered to bulk culinary purchases.

But a client is a client. And your job description as an advisor doesn't distort just because of petty differences. You bring your focus back to the table.

"Do you have a contract I can look at?" You ask. Austin nods, and slides a thinner folder your way.

"The salary, bonuses, and benefits are all hilighted in purple," he says. You open the folder to take a look, and flip through a few pages of clauses and formalities until you see the purple.

... Holy shit.

That's a whole digit added to your salary, even after taxes. And before performance bonuses. You look back up at the pair in utter disbelief.

"I need a moment." You quickly force the words out of your mouth before they trip over themselves. "This is quite the offer, but..." you trail off uncertainly, thinking of a phrase that didn't give off an ungrateful tone. But Mettaton nods in understanding.

"Take your time in thinking, darling. I can understand the intimidation: being one of the first humans to work under the best monster entertainer in history?" He chuckles, and you immediately know that you want to hear more of that noise.

You return with a small and rare smirk. "Among other things. How soon do you need a decision by?"

Austin looks at his watch. "Today is Thursday. Will between now and Saturday evening be a large enough time frame?"

Mettaton nods. Then they both turn to you. You force your eyes to focus on a spot in the wall between them, hands shaking slightly under the table.

"If you decline, another Hillside advisor will see to Mettaton." Austin points to the thicker of the two folders. "It's already detailed in there as a contingency. And your standing as an advisor will not be affected if you say no."

You know that saying yes would be the obvious awnser for anyone else in your position. It's a challenge, a chance to prove your abilities as a professional. A job with security that might last for a decade, maybe two, maybe for the rest of your life. Connections with big names, subordinates to boss around, and a biweekly paycheck that's worth more than some people's annual salaries.

It's quite the prospect. You should take it now, right while it's being offered, right when it's on that silver platter in front of your face.

"I'll email you by Saturday with my decision, if that's alright."

Austin and Mettaton look at each other, nod, then turn back to you.

"Alright then. I'll be waiting." Your boss nods, and stands up from his seat. You follow suit, and so does Mettaton. Everyone shakes hands with each other, and you make sure to be professionally brief with your skin contact with Mettaton, even if your fingertips whimper to your brain in protest. As your perspective client leaves, Austin calls for you to stay behind for a moment.

"The rest of the day is yours. Go home and think, go out and have a drink, whatever you need to do." He thinks for a second. "Take Friday off too, if you need it. Just email me if that's the case."

* * *

 

The trip back home is surreal. Muscle memory takes your legs to the subway station, and you grip the hanging support strap much harder than nessesary. Your mind is turning the situation over, thinking of all the pros and cons of taking the contract.

You decide to ride the train past your stop. You're too distracted to make food for yourself tonight, and opt for a Thai place a little further downtown than where your apartment is.

The atmosphere of this place is nice, at least. Music from some string instrument you don't know the name of, playing alongside a man singing in a language you can't understand, flows through the speakers. You absorb it gratefully, feeling your shoulders relax out of their tense position as you step into the building.

A waiter seats you, and you order a Pad Thai and a beer. Today was more than you'd bargained for, or even expected to happen to you in a lifetime. Hell, this entire situation was unreal. The monsters, the contract, actually meeting and _touching_ a robot for fucks sake. One that you would be working with.

Might _be working with,_ a voice in the back of your head reminded you. _Your signature isn't on that dotted line just yet. Still time to step back and say no. Let someone more capable take over._

The waiter comes back with your food and drink at that moment, and you couldn't be more pleased at the timing. You reach right over your Pad Thai and grab the bottle imported beer, ignoring the glass that it came with, and pour it directly into your mouth.

The stress dissolves from your mind. Everything starts to seem more bearable. You tilt you head back and drink for a few more seconds before your lungs impatiently ask for some oxygen. You oblige, letting the mouth of the bottle free from your lips with an almost musical _phwop_. Over half the bottle is gone.

You focus on nothing but breathing for a few seconds, face red in embarrassment. Your attention shifts to your plate of noodles, and you begin to eat properly. The music gets to your feet, and you're tapping your black work shoes along to the foreign rhythm before you know it.

The songs were nice. The beer was lovely, and you ordered a second one just to make sure. The food was good, too.

By the time you're on the train back to you apartment, you're in high spirits. It was an early dinner (or a second, later lunch), and you'll probably want something to eat by tonight, but all you can think about at the moment is an old cartoon series that's crossed your mind for some reason. You immediately feel the need to binge watch it on your TV as soon as you get home.

"Good evening and welcome home, Ya'ne. The time is 4:25."

PAAI's greeting makes you giggle. His voice reminds you of Mettaton, if he were more uptight. "Hey buddy. Put on... play the entire Justice League animated series on the television."

"Understood. Searching through Netflix now." There's an adorable little beep as he connects to the small flat screen, and by the time you undo your tie and unbutton your collar, it's playing.

Flashbacks of a time before work, before college, even, come back to you. Chilling out like this, with barely a care in the world. Comfortably by yourself.

You crash onto your bed, kicking your shoes and pants off along the way. Hands grab the sheets as you twist yourself into a comfortable burrito.

There's a few wonderful minutes where nothing but the speakers are making a sound. Suddenly, an afterthought hits you.

"PAAI, pause the TV."

The screen freezes on Batman taking a grappling hook up to the rooftop of some building.

"Write an email to Austin from my work address."

"What should it say?"

"Tell him that I'm taking him up on his offer to have tomorrow off."

There we go. Now you can binge watch in peace.

"Do you want it to say anything else? Or add any attachments?"

You pause. Then you sigh from your burrito position on the bed. _This is the right thing to do. Just don't fuck up, and get your paycheck._

"Yeah. Tell him I'm taking the contract."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah, the second chapter. I'm glad writing this isn't as insanely difficult as I thought it would be, since I try to make my chapters a minimum of 1500 words apiece.
> 
> Lemme know if you did or didn't like this chapter. Comments sustain my life force.


	3. The Preperarion

"Ya'ne. Your morning alarm."

You're well awake by the time PAAI announces that it's seven o'clock AM, per usual. The sheets you'd wrapped around yourself last night are now  splayed all over your bed, probably from your tossing and turning as the night had progressed. The television is shut off, courtesy of PAAI, and your body is immediately aware of two things.

You need to piss, and you need to eat.

The first situation is resolved with a short trip to the bathroom. A sigh of relief joins the sound of the toilet flushing, and you step out to flop right back onto your mattress.

Now to take care of your stomach.

"Ya'ne, I have two notifications for you. Both from your work inbox."

Emails from work? What could that be abo-

Yesterday's events replay themselves in your head. You remember the meeting, Mettaton, watching cartoons, and confirming the contract last night with Austin. A sensation of anxiousness begins to make itself known in your gut. Was that the right move? Were you actually ready for what you signed up for?

Mettaton's grin. He smiled when you entered the room at the meeting. From the way he and Austin spoke, they'd probably gone over your resume together. He certainly didn't show any obvious signs of disliking you. You'll see if that holds true once you sign that contract and start working.

PAAI reads out the emails at your request. One is from Austin, adknowledging your request for Friday off - today - and congratulating you on deciding to accept the contract. He wants to hold a meeting somewhere that isn't the office late today or sometime tomorrow to sign the contract and talk to Mettaton directly afterwards. To get the two of you acquainted, the email says.

"Please let me know which day and time of day works best for you to sign, and I'll follow up with Mettaton," the email finishes. "Regards, A. Ignam."

Alright. Next email.

"Dear Ya'ne,

I enjoyed meeting you this afternoon. Austin showed me your resumé, and spoke highly of you from what he's seen in your many years of employment at Hillside Savings. I haven't gotten word of your decision yet at time of writing, but I do hope you'll be able to work with me in this endeavor.

I look forward to seeing you again! Take care.

  - Mettaton."

There's something about that message. Something that makes you pull your phone out of the pair of pants still on the floor and read the text with your own eyes. You keep lingering to one sentence, even after four rereadings.

_I look forward to seeing you again!_

As a personal rule, you refrain from using exclamation marks in any business emails, and silently disapprove when others do so. Mettaton's use doesn't tug the same strings of irritation, though. Quite the opposite: it's a little endearing. You allow yourself a grin.

A growling from your stomach reminds you that it's been a while since you last ate. You groan and head over to the corner of the apartment that serves as the kitchen. Now that the luxury of time is on your side, you can afford to have something other than your almost mechanical intake of oatmeal before work. As filling as it is nutritionally, it gets very bland, very fast.

You take out a pan and the appropriate ingredients from the fridge. Time to make an omlette. A big one.

 

* * *

 

A shameless burp comes out of your mouth after the last bite of your triple-egg monstrosity. Nothing like a classic ham and cheese filling. The growling in your gut has turned into a groan of satisfaction, and you slump back into your chair. That felt good.

... Now what?

You let your thoughts drift as you start cleaning up the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, they end up at Mettaton. The way he looked you up and down as soon as you entered the room. His very lifelike hands.

His grin.

You call up Austin, and ask him if the signing can happen tonight.

"Sure, I can do that. Mettaton said he wanted to meet at someplace closer to where he's at, and I'll get back to you with an exact time and adress. Shouldn't be before 5 though. You'll have plenty of time to get ready."

You thank him and hang up. Now time to prepare.

You finish tidying up from last night and sit to your desk, laptop open. Entertainment is definitely unfamiliar territory for you, as you boss had mentioned. Which means research is required to make a decent impression.

The Hillside Savings employee portal has a few resources for your situation. Most of them are for the nitty-gritty, the forms that need filling, the basics of establishing a foundation and a brand. You need a base of operations with appropriate equipment. Setting up spreadsheets for expenses and profits. Asking the client if they want to go into merchandising, and how to find production companies for them.

As you're writing notes and scrolling through the instruction files, you ask PAAI to turn on the TV for the sake of background noise.

"Turn it to the financial news channel," you ask. The speakers come to life, and you briefly adknowlege the blueish light from the screen reflecting off your monitor.

"-basically breaking our economy," the specialist says over the TV. "They're coming in here with a bunch of gold coins that are 14 karat, thousands of them, and weigh about eleven grams each. Look, it's maybe the size of a dollar coin, but it's worth a hell of a lot more. The price of gold - pure gold, mind you, full 24 karat - the day before Ebbot busted was sitting around 40 bucks per gram. It's been a few days short of a month and it's down by _eleven percent_. Unbelievable."

"And what's your advice to investors? I'm sure this'll shake up plenty of portfolios." The anchor seems genuinely engaged, and has lost his usual dry reporting tone.

You hear the specialist pound the desk she's seated at. "Sell gold! Sell sell sell sell sell. If you haven't already, reduce your exposure to this, cut the unnecessary losses. If you're looking to buy, look towards the tech sector. They'll be using gold industrially, and now that they can buy it slightly cheaper to produce their products, they'll probably be able to make slightly better margins on their sales now. Nothing massive, mind you, but definitely something to consider."

"Alright then. Professor Tendai Eze, ladies and gentlemen, metal trading specialist. Thank you so much for for your time."

"Thank you for having me."

"Up next, the hourly market report: bringing Wall Street to your feet. We'll get back to you right after these messages."

Commercial break. Then some general market news: things are less of a haywire mess than a week ago, and stock prices are stabilizing back into mostly predictable trends. You make a mental note to re-adjust your personal portfolio later. The news is replaced with more commercials again. A medicine advertisement plays out behind you, and you chuckle when the long list of hazardous side affects gets listed towards the end.

You finish up your notes from the Hillside employee site, and shift to a web page that touches more on the entertainment.

Exposure. That's what you'll need to work on the most with Mettaton. Monsters already know him, but humans don't. He needs to be recognizable before he can be marketable, or at least that's what this site is telling you. Other factors, like how he presents himself, what target audience he's looking at, even how he speaks and sits. Not to mention his attire. You should probably contact a stylist.

Your think about the city's local news station, and write down their contact information in a corner of your note paper. That seems like a fair first step, just to get the people talking. Start local, then escalate from there.

More research. Seeing how established actors and entertainers made their rise, and noting how others fell from grace.

You start to go deeper, and sit through a few full on documentaries. Rappers, television personalities, big time chefs, comedians. The hand holding your pen starts to feel a little cramped, but you keep writing. Every step forward and misstep back. You need to record it and recognize the patterns and trends so that Mettaton doesn't make the same pitfalls.

You feel your stomach growl partway through a documentary on Oprah Winfrey, and pause it to head over to your fridge.

"PAAI, what's the time?"

"2:40."

You almost drop the food you were about to reheat. Time passed quickly.

You get reply from Austin while you're eating. An address on the border of Ebott and West Ebott is where the three of you will meet for the signing at 5:30. The train line doesn't go there, so you'll need to drive.

When you're done eating you finish up your notes and look over them one last time before packing them up in a folder. Then comes de-stressing shower that slows your mind out of a half panicked overdrive. Tension from your back and shoulders melt away bit by bit from the hot water.

You can do this. You've got about a dozen pages of notes that can help Mettaton, and enough websites you know of to dig for information worth a dozen pages more, at minimum. A curt mantra repeats itself in your head as you scrub yourself with body wash.

_It'll be fine._

_It'll be fine._

_It will be fine._

The water temperature starts to shift from hot to warm, and you shut the shower off before it turns into an icy assault, which is the last thing you need right now. You dry off and put on some underclothes, and start ironing your shirt and pants. After a brief moment of thought, you decide to leave your work tie in its drawer. Blue-green is a wierd color, and it's not exactly your first pick when you have the option to wear something different.

A purple one catches your eye. It has thick, diagonal stripes all along it, alternating from dull to glossy, and back again. You remember this one being a favorite of yours, and try to remember the last time you wore it. Was it at a fancy holiday party of some type? It must have been, you can't think of any other reason you'd wear a tie outside of work.

When was the last time you went to a party again?

The awnser isn't important at the moment. You finish putting your clothes on and knot the purple tie around your collar. You grab your folder full of notes and flip through them, deciding on how best to present them verbally. It takes a few tries of speaking to an empty chair to get it the way you want it.

You begin to imagine Mettaton in the chair, but the thought makes your throat tighten and dry. After a few drinks of water and retries, you manage to present to the imaginary entertainer with an upright posture. Your face still has more blood rushing to it than you'd like, but you'll cross that bridge when you come to it facing the real thing.

You decide to start heading out to the address Austin gave you, even though you'll be very early. The thought of staying in your apartment for another minute seems unbearable after sitting at your desk for so long. Even you had your limits. You grab your notes and a jacket before heading over to the parking lot.

* * *

The trip takes half an hour. You get a chance to look out the window as the  buildings get shorter and shorter, before melting into stretches of grass and trees. Plant life is starting to wither away with the coming of autumn, and a few fallen tree leaves are scattered across the road, getting swept away as your car rushes past them.

Your phone's GPS says you're close. You keep an eye out for your last turn, and almost miss the gravel driveway into your meeting spot; overgrown grass has kept it somewhat hidden.

The house you pull up to is pretty huge. The walls are made up of whole logs of wood on their side, like some sort of massive rustic cabin, complete two brick chimneys. One of them has smoke billowing up it. Off to the side, you notice a swinging bench hanging off a tree limb, and what looks like a few scarecrows grouped together off in the distance. All in all, it's very...

Comfy.

Is this Mettaton's house? The building seems too large for one robot, but you wouldn't put it past him to have a house this size. Maybe it's the aesthetic that doesn't seem his style. You'd think a sleek, modern house would be more up his alley. Plus, it's way too remote for anyone that runs off electricity. One fallen power line and the next best option to charge back up would be a diesel engine.

Should you get out and knock? It's still an hour before the meeting time you were given.

Why not. Better early than late, you suppose. You step out your car and lock it behind you.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunch under your black dress shoes. You can hear your own breathing, and if you focus hard enough, the blood flow through your ears. Other than that it's silent. Almost like a sanctuary.

You walk up to the heavy wooden door and knock three times. Silence for about half a minute. Then the brass door handle jiggles, followed by the sound of hinges squeaking as the door swings inwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter to break the 2k word mark. Hooray.
> 
> I'll probably be making chapters this long or longer in the future. I also plan on stitching the first two chapters together and trimming away some of the parts I don't like. 
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter, as well as the work overall. I love seeing comments, and I'll try to respond to each of them when I can.


	4. At The House

When the heavy wooden door swings open, it takes a moment for you to notice who turned the handle on the other end. You looked from left to right before the thought of looking down came to you.

About a foot below your eye level was a short, bespectacled, lab coat wearing yellow lizard. Her clawlike hands were clasped together, and she looks up at you with a slightly confused expression on her face.

"Uhhhh... Hi. Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"I'm here to meet with Mettaton. Is he here by chance?" It wouldn't surprise you if this was the wrong address. Not the first time your phone had given you wrong directions.

Her eyes light up suddenly. "Oh! Yes! I remember him talking a-about a meeting today, that's right. I just didn't think that - I thought it was a little later in the day." She digs in one of her inside pockets and pulls out a pocket watch, checking the time.

"I am quite early. It's alright though, I can just wait in the car if -"

"No! It's quite alright. C-Come on in." A pause. "If you'd like to, that is. No p-pressure." She stands in front of you awkwardly, waiting for a response.

"Sure. Thank you." You step in, and the lizard grins. You quickly kick off your shoes, sporting the rack of footwear by the door.

"My name is Alphys, by the way," she adds.

"Nice to meet you, Alphys. I'm Ya'ne."

Alphys leads you through the short entry hall, opening another door into what you assume is the living room. Chairs of various shapes and sizes are scattered in a loose half-circle around a fireplace on one end of the room, and a dining table on the other. There's several boxes of ramen stacked on top of the table, in both brick and cup form, enough to feed a legion of desperate college students for half a semester.

"They're really good. The n-noodles, I mean." Alphys seems to have noticed where you were looking. "There was a lot of it underground, and... it's my favorite."

You grin and tell her you used to eat the stuff all the time. Tasty, but you never could eat it too many days in a row. It could get bland after a while.

Alphys agrees. "S-Sometimes, I make my own spice mixes to put in, instead of using the packet. One time I put in some pepper flakes in it. It was really good."

"Too spicy for me, personally. But I know plenty of people like a little kick in their stuff," you respond.

"Yeah. Um. I should probably, uh, get Mettaton for you. Be back in a sec. You c-can sit down if you want." She waved toward the chairs crowded around the fireplace, before walking over to a door opposite of the one you had just entered through. She took a key out and unlocked it, and stepped out of sight through the doorway.

You take off your backpack and sit at the chair closest to you. The cushioning on it is soft, and you sink into it. The fireplace crackles cheerfully, with a single fat log burning away behind the grate. This is definitely a comfy house. You're about to sink deeper into the chair and risk falling asleep when a now familiar voice calls out to you.

"Darling! So good to see you again."

You get up and turn to face Mettaton, who has the biggest and most genuine smile you've seen on him to date. He approaches you for what you assume is a handshake, but he pulls you into a brief and friendly hug, instead. You're not fussy enough about your personal space to mind the sudden embrace, and briefly hug him back before stepping apart.

A flash of yellow tail disappears out of sight. Alphys must have disappeared out the doorway again. It's just the two of you in the living room now.

Mettaton notices you looking at the door. "Oh! That's the way to Alphys's lab. She's a scientist, you know. Although, since she built me this body, I think she's earned the title of mechanic as well." He twirls around in his boots, showing off his metal chassis.

You nod in agreement. "Looks like she's a good barber, too. I, ah, like the way your hair goes over your eye." The words sound like something a middle schooler would say to a teacher they liked, but Mettaton absorbs the compliment gratefully regardless.

"You really do think so? It's actually more of a workaround than a stylistic choice you know. Alphys couldn't apply the faceplate over this eye, something about conductivity." He pushes the strands away from his face, revealing exposed metal mesh and wiring. The now exposed right eye is a solid ball of glowing pink, as opposed to the more human eye on the left, complete with pupil and an iris, also pink.

It takes a moment for you to realize how closely you're leaning in to inspect Mettaton's facial features. You take a step back.

"Sorry about that. It's... not every day I get to see a robot." Your fingers fidget at your sides. You want to know how his hair feels. How his face feels. There's so much detail to explore.

"That'll change after today," Mettaton reminds you. He moves his hand away from his hair, which falls back into place over his face. "Once Austin comes over with the contact, and it's all signed and sealed, I'll effectively be your new boss."

When he mentions the contract, your mind snaps back into focus mode. _This is a business setting. You're here to work. Not to be an audience._

You nod curtly. "Yes. Actually, about that." You jesture towards your backpack. "I spent this morning drafting the first few things that need doing to make the MTT brand succeed topside. We can go over it now, if you'd like. Or we can wait until after the contract."

He raises an eyebrow. "You've already been planning without me, darling?" Mettaton pouts playfully, placing a hand on his hip.

"Just enough for a solid foundation. Then I'll help you shape your image as you'd like."

The robot cracks a grin. "Sounds like you got a timeline all figured out. Let's sit at the table, shall we?" He grabs a chair next to yours, a wooden rocker, and lifts it over to the side of the table. You follow suit, bringing your own chair next to his, then double back for your backpack.

Mettaton watches as you sit down and take out your folder, spreading your scribbled papers across the desk. You grab the first one.

"So the first thing that needs to be done is getting your name out there," you begin. "I was thinking of setting up an interview, get it on local public television." Mettaton gives an understanding nod. You continue. "And, once we have an audience, once we have that demand, we'll be able to give them what they want. Throw out some surveys, set up a broadcasting room, all of those things. But, ah, one step at a time. To start with, at least."

You slide the first paper over to him, and watch as he reads over the details. His mouth moves a little as he silently reads out the words you've written.

"This is detailed," he notes aloud. "Very detailed, for being done so quickly. When did you start working on this?"

"This morning and afternoon."

Mettaton's eye goes wide. He looks over the paper at you.

"Well aren't you quite the workaholic?" He sets the paper down and faces you, crossing one leg over the other.

"You asked for the best, didn't you?" you respond.

"I suppose I did, didn't I. And it does seem I've gotten just that." Another grin from him. And yet, not an inch of it seems forced. You've never seen someone smile this much during a business meeting. Or in any sort of engagement.

"Why me?" you ask suddenly. "I mean, I'm certainly not complaining. It's just..." You pause, trying to shift your outburst into a coherent thought. Mettaton waits for you to continue, albeit with a confused look on his face. "I know of colleagues who have worked on projects with big names beforehand. I would think that they may have been better equipped to help you with such a large project." You bite your lip and focus, choosing your next words carefully. "I'm just wondering what I can bring to the table that other's couldn't. You did pick me out by name for a reason, it seems."

Hopefully, Mettaton didn't take what you said the wrong way. You were just curious. To the point of having your nerves almost getting the better of you. Because it had only just struck you how surreal this was. Working with monsters. Working with Mettaton. Getting hired by him. Out of all the options he had at his disposal.

"It's because you seemed to be more than just a business person, honestly." He shrugged. "Austin handed me a folder full of... resumés, you call them?" You nod. "Right. And everyone puts down where they went to college, and all the jobs they had from then until now. Darling, yours is the one that didn't make any sense. And that's exactly why I picked you."

What.

"Everyone else," he explained, "went right on the rails to get from their college and university place to all those tidy little finance related jobs. And while I'll gladly admit that it's efficient, it'd also be... boring, for lack of a better term. Not to say that you're not effective yourself," he added. "Just that I'd rather have someone that knows a little more than numbers, you know."

That... makes sense. Especially for an up and coming entertainer. 

Your robotic client begins to look a little uneasy: what you thought to be an unceasing grin starts to twitch downwards. Shoulders slide him into a slight hunch over the table. You're about to ask him if he's okay before he speaks on his own accord.

"I always looked forward to this moment, you know. Being on the surface, entertaining humans. It's a little... terrifying now that it's here though. It's a passion, you know, making others happy."

You nod in agreement. And against your better judgment, you interject with a thought of your own.

"If you do what you love, you don't work a day in your life. Or so I hear."

"Oh, it's work alright." He crosses his arms, giving a small * _huff_ *. "Just like anything else, it has ups and downs. But... it's worth it. Living underground wasn't bad by any stretch for most monsters, but at the end of the day the mountain was our prison. No one forgot that. I'm just glad I could... take the edge off."

Suddenly, he laughs. "Look at me, reminiscing like an old person. Those days are over!" Mettaton got up out of his chair and stretched. "I've got a whole new audience to entertain, and you -" he dramatically points, almost lunging into the motion "- are going to be right there with me!"

He sticks his palm out to you, and you high-five it with a smile. You can definitely see why monsters like his energy.

"You got it, boss."

Mettaton shakes his head. "None of that. Just Mettaton."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals and my poor sanity kept me from finishing this chapter at my usual pace. I decided to put this chapter out there instead of not publishing it until it was absolutely perfect, which probably would have made this fic go on hiatus until summer.
> 
> Worst case scenario, I edit this chapter later down the line after getting some feedback. Speaking of which, don't forget to comment and such. I appreciate the ones I've gotten so far, and thanks to everyone who's reading.
> 
> EDIT (30 June 2018): So this fic is still alive. I just needed a hiatus to bust some writers block. At time of writing, I've edited ending of the chapter to lead better into the idea for the upcoming chapter I have at the moment.
> 
> If by chance you've been wondering where the hell I've been for the past few months, now you know I'm not dead and plan to kind of continue this. If you're a new reader, welcome, and I hope you enjoy!


	5. Restless

Your hands fly between the keyboard of your laptop and the mouse off to the side. Windows of program after program dance between the background and foreground of your desktop: a spreadsheet of potential employees to recruit, a web browser tab listing buildings for sale and lease that could be an office or recording studio, another dozen or so browser tabs of research for topic after topic after topic -

"Darling?"

There's a gloved hand on your shoulder. You blink yourself out of your focus on the screen before you, craning your neck back to face Mettaton.

"Hey," you responded. "Lunch?"

He nods. "Toriel made some lasagna. We're eating back out in the dining room, if you're hungry."

"I'll be there in a moment. Just finishing up."

The robot nods and retreats, closing the door to the small office room behind him. You turn back to the screen and pull up the text document that's been serving as a checklist of tasks to get Mettaton set up properly for a debut. Four days after the contract got finalized, and by now you're nearly at the halfway point. You're mostly studying up to be a decent assistant while waiting to get calls back from certain people.

On a side note, you're tired as hell. Coffee, the disgustingly bitter drink you usually hold a low opinion of, is now a reluctantly nessesary part of your daily routine. The mug beside your computer, once full of coffee mixed with enough sugar and cream to give diabetic and lactose intolerant individuals alike a stroke on sight, was now empty. You'd need to make a fourth cup today for yourself as soon as you finish lunch.

You drag yourself out of the chair and walk through the halls, back to the now familiar hardwood table you signed the contract at. Toriel, a towering but motherly goat-like monster, is carrying metal tray in her bare hands (Paws? Hooves? And how the hell is she handling that hot metal like it's nothing?), placing it on the table to cool off.

The huge size of the table means it would take over a dozen people to make it feel truly crowded, but there's still a fair amount of people seated in a variety of odd chairs around it. You take a seat, with Toriel on one side and Mettaton at the other. Alphys is there as well, next to her buff fish girlfriend Undyne. She seems to have finally submitted to the growing chill outside, shivering slightly in a borrowed lab coat that barely reaches down to her navel. You distinctly recall thinking how crazy she was to be training outside in nothing but a black tank top at these temperatures.

And then there was Frisk.

The kid was twelve, and had gone through a whole mountain of monsters that had, for the most part, tried to kill him on sight. And he'd done it all without so much as a scratch, to the surprise of many. Not one of the monsters seemed to have landed a hit on him according to both them and the boy himself, and with the way you saw him running circles around Undyne during one of her battle practicing sessions, you can't say the claim is completely unbelievable.

Right now he's playing with the spoon on his place setting, making faces at his silvery, distorted reflection. You briefly wonder if there's any profound thoughts going on if that head of his, especially after being under Ebbot. Or maybe it's just regular kid thoughts. Probably not your business to pry either way.

Toriel deemed the lasagna cool enough and began to pass slices around on plates. You eagerly busied yourself with eating while conversations happened around the table.

"I g-got asked to do a talk at the nearby university," Alphys says. "Lots of people are pretty interested in what I have to say about SOUL research. Not really a t-thing up here, apparently." She laughs nervously.

Undyne pats her on the shoulder reassuringly. "That's awesome. You been practicing in the mirror, yeah?"

The lizard nods proudly, but her cheeks still tinge red with embarrassement. "It feels silly... but it works."

"I'm so glad," Toriel comments. She pauses to take a massive bite of food before continuing. "Back before I... ah, back when I was still giving speeches as royalty, that trick helped me greatly. It's wonderful to know it helps you too."

There's an uncomfortable pause, and even in your state of growing exhaustion, you can feel the tension in the air. You continue eating silently, trying to finish your plate as fast as you can to both escape the awkward situation and get one more cup of coffee to sustain your consciousness.

Frisk breaks the silence after a few minutes, directing a question at you.

"So... how's your computer stuff going, Ya'ne?"

"Pretty well. I'll talk with a few people about hiring employees and getting a building to work and record in properly."

"Aww, our house not good enough for you?" Undyne responds banteringly. "Can't believe you're disrespecting me and my little nerd like this. Truly unbelievable."

"Oh, is Burgerpants on that list by the way?" Mettaton asks. "He worked for me for ages before everyone came topside."

You snort like a feral hog when you hear that name, and cover your mouth with a hand to keep yourself from full blown laughter.

_Burgerpants?_ What the hell kind of name is that?

You're not the only one who has this reaction, thankfully. Frisk straight up bangs his hands on the table, and Undyne is right there with him. Even Toriel gives a small chuckle.

Mettaton shrugs his metal shoulders. "It's odd, but there's a whole story about that. You see, 'Burgerpants' works in food service, making burgers and fries and other such things..."

You listen to the story as attentively as you can, but the struggle to keep your eyelids open takes up most of your focus. After a few minutes, you decide to finish your plate of lasagna as quickly as you can before getting some more coffee. The pot is just in sight, by the stove on the kitchen counter, and there's enough for another mug or two.

"Dear, are you alright?"

Your attention snaps away from the coffee pot to Toriel's concerned voice.

"Huh?" you say intelligently.

One of her eyebrows are raised. "You seem a little... off. Are you getting enough sleep?"

She's in full mom mode at this point, you can tell. You'd honestly love to take a nap at this point, but there's a personal timeline you'd like to keep. Even so you're ahead of schedule, but it's still work that needs to be done. You try and shake her off.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just need another... just one more thing of coffee." You blink rapidly to get the sleep out of your eyes, and excuse yourself politely from the table, bringing your now empty plate up to the sink while you're at it.

Your fingers fumble a little bit, and the dish hits the sink with a _clank_ louder than you intended. A new mug gets grabbed from the cupboard above, and is promptly filled with black, energetic nectar from the coffee pot. It takes all your restraint to not throw it back like a college student chugging a beer, instead sipping it slowly where you stand.

Everything slips back into a focus you barely noticed you were out of in the first place. You drain the mug and refill it before walking past the dining table, waving goodbye as you head back to your temporary office. Mettaton gives you a funny look that you can't quite pinpoint, but doesn't say anything.

It's only when you sit down that you realize you've completely forgottem to put your usual amount of sugar and milk in your mug. Were you really that desperate for energy that you drank black coffee without noticing?

You shrug. The chair before your computer welcome your tired butt with an eager * _fwhomp_ *, and you immediately put your hands back on the keyboard. Your heavy eyelids wrestle with your own willpower, desperate to close when you currently need them open.

You've still got work to do.

* * *

 

"Darling? Are you alright?"

Mettaton's voice wakes you up instantly, and you panic when you realize you were asleep in the first place. Your head lifts itself up from the keyboard with a jerk, but your robotic boss grabs you firmly by the shoulders to keep you from standing up.

"I'm sorry," you tell him hurriedly, "Must have fallen asleep. Won't happen again." Your heart is beating like that of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and you straight your back in an effort to compose yourself. The word document you fell asleep on has a five page string of the letter "j" on it, and you promptly try to highlight them all with your mouse to delete them, but your clumsy hand knocks it off to the edge of the desk where it dangles. Your face burns with embarrassment and you want to crawl under a rock but you gotta keep at it and get back to work and not look like a bumbling klutz for just * _five damn seconds_ *-

Your hands stop moving for some reason, and it takes you longer than you'd like to realize Mettaton has taken a very light grip onto both of your wrists.

"Are you alright, Ya'ne?" He asks calmly.

"... Yeah," you lie.

He's not convinced in the slightest, letting go of your wrists and turning the spinning chair around so you're facing him. His expression isn't angry. You're too out of it to tell what it is, though.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

You want to deflect the question as easily as you did when Toriel asked it, but can't. Not while he's looking at you like that. You slowly shake your head.

"I think you should rest," he suggests.

"Okay."

You get up and walk with him to a spare bedroom in the huge house. Mettaton insists on walking right next to you, a gloved hand holding you steady by the shoulder. You're not complaining; you doubt you could navigate in a straight line without his assistance at the moment.

Mettaton watches as you stumble onto the bed, curling up on the sheets like a child. He turns the lights to the room off, and for a moment his outline is silhouetted against the light of the hallway.

"Please take care of yourself," he whispers into the room.

And with that, the door is slowly shut, leaving you in the dark with your thoughts.

Your face still burns. The mental list of tasks that still need doing crosses your mind, but your exhaustion starts to catch up to you. The dark fog of sleep swiftly drags you into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm back from the dead. The fandom resurgence from the game releasing on the Switch, and the Mad Mew Mew fight addition along with it, inspired me to finish this already mostly complete chapter I've let gather dust in my folders.
> 
> As for the chapter itself, I've done my best to convey feelings with subtext as opposed to doing so explicitly. Not much more to be said.
> 
> As always, comments are read, loved, and appreciated. I'll do my best to respond to most of them.


End file.
